The Games We Play
by wsinclaire
Summary: Set right after 'The Witch's Familiar'. Missy and the Doctor. Bathtub, anger, sex, fluff, friendship, and love.


Rating: M for language and sex.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended; these characters aren't mine.

*WS*

He found her where he always found her when she was sulking. He had the decency to knock, but didn't wait for a reply, simply opened the door and walked straight in.

She didn't open her eyes, only let herself sink lower into the tub.

"Look what the cat's dragged in," she said, her voice a low purr.

"Missy—"

"What can you possibly want from me? I thought the two of you would be busy celebrating your happy reunion."

He regarded her through half-closed eyes.

"I'm sorry I told you to run."

"And I'm sorry I couldn't get you to blow up your pet."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I?"

"You know, Missy, jealousy doesn't suit you," he said, and watched an evil smile ghost across her face.

"Your new girlfriend doesn't suit you."

"You know she isn't my girlfriend, so stop it."

"Oh, but how you wish she was," she mused in a sing-songy voice, and when she finally looked at him, her eyes shone in every possible shade of blue.

"You don't need my help, they do," he said, ignoring her accusation. "That's why I did what I did."

"I know why you did what you did, Doctor," she snapped. "I'm disgusted about the way you did it. 'Run, Missy.' Like I'm nothing to you. Like I hadn't just saved your stupid, naive ass. I was at least hoping for a high five."

"How many times do I have to tell you this isn't a game?"

She looked right through him then, laughter spilling out of her eyes.

"And yet here you are playing it. Doctor."

He held her gaze.

She blinked first, then looked away.

"How long have you been in there?" He asked.

She blew at a mountain of foam that had drifted too close to her face. They both watched it float into the air. "Ages. But it's not doing anything. I still feel like I need to punch someone. Possibly you."

He chuckled, took off his coat and let it drop to the floor.

She gave him a sideways glance, then closed her eyes again.

He watched her as he took off one item of clothing after the other. When his trousers hit the floor she was smirking.

"I'm coming in," he told her a moment later.

"If you must," she shrugged and stretched like a cat, pushing her breasts up above the water's foamy surface.

"I must," he said and slid into the bathtub behind her. He pulled her wet little body to lie back against him. Some of his tension melted away instantly, and he let out a contented little sigh. With his middle finger he drew in Gallifreyan on Missy's stomach.

"I hate you," she told him, letting her head fall back to rest against his shoulder.

"That's not what this reads," he whispered into her ear.

"I want to strangle you."

"I want to sleep with you."

"You're mine."

"I loved you first and I'll always love you most."

"So you don't deny you love her."

"No. But not like this, Missy."

"You're mine," she said again, much quieter this time.

"Always," he whispered, and felt her shiver.

"Do you ever wish we never met?"

He chuckled. "Every day," he said, and bit her earlobe.

She pinched his thigh.

"Ouch. You asked," he laughed.

She looked up at him with eyes to die for. _I wish I could drag your subtle sweetness into forever_ , he thought, and kissed her deeply. The first tinge of longing always surprised him, and made his hearts beat differently. Her arm snaked around the back of his head and she pulled him closer, kissed him harder, and the constant ache for her intensified and turned into a deep, dark longing. His right hand became more possessive, and gently squeezed her breast. His thumb ran over her nipple, and she broke their kiss to take in a sharp breath that she let out with a throaty moan. He smiled against her lips.

"I hate that you can do this to me," she whispered, never opening her eyes.

"I hate that you hate it," he replied, and tenderly licked her bottom lip. She tasted of broken promises and eternity. His hearts were pounding in his chest.

"You're a first-class idiot, Doctor," she whispered. "That stunt you pulled. Honestly."

"I—"

"I'm as tired of your apologies as you must be of mine. Shush now," she said and turned around so she was lying on top of him. She looked at him for a long moment, then went for his lips, kissing him like she hadn't done it a million times before, like it was a new kind of wanting. It was all tongues, and breathless thoughts he knew she'd never share with him.

His hands roamed down her back, cupped her ass and pulled her forever closer against him.

"Can we get out of here so I can have my wicked way with you?" He asked, his eyes on her mouth.

Missy raised her eyebrows. "Why, Doctor, aren't you forward tonight. Whatever happened to foreplay?"

"Skaro was our foreplay," he said and finally met her eyes. They were dark and knowing. "I didn't want to tell you to run. I wanted to slam you against the wall and fuck you."

His words hung suspended in the space between them, frozen in time by the way they allowed themselves to look at each other.

"Why didn't you?" She finally asked, a smirk pulling at the edges of her delicious mouth.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Daleks, common decency."

She ran her hand through his hair and kissed him.

"I wish you could forget about common decency every once in a while. Theta," she whispered. "You have no idea how stunning you are when you let go. Terrifying. And beautiful."

He felt her hearts beating against his chest, felt his own pounding, demanding to find expression. Her eyes shone like the last moments of evening twilight. _Yes,_ he thought. _Yes_.

She got off of him, stepped out of the tub first, and passed him the only towel. He wrapped it around them both.

"When I tell you that I love you, I mean it," he said and she leant her forehead against his chest. "I'd sketch it across your soul if I could."

"I still hate you," she said so quietly, he barely heard it.

He dropped the towel and turned her around so his hard cock was pressing into her lower back. He walked her the three steps to the marble sink, pushed her right up against it, and looked at their reflections in the mirror. Missy didn't need to be prompted about what was next. She brought her feet to stand that little bit further apart. His left hand dipped down to grip her hip tightly, and with the other hand he guided himself inside her. She made a noise that went straight to his groin and he held her against him with both hands at her hips now. He watched her eyes shut and her mouth open slightly, a deadly combination when it came to trying not to lose what little remained of his sanity.

He swore and started driving into her. He wondered how in all this time he'd never fucked her in front of a mirror, before cursing himself for doing it now, because he wasn't going to last a minute like this.

He had to focus on something- anything; a droplet of water that had dripped from her hair onto her back and was slowly running down her spine until coming to a stop just by her ass, near his thumb. He wiped it away and gripped her forever tighter. When he looked back at her reflection she was watching him. He felt, then saw himself blush, like she'd caught him in the act of fantasising about her. A smile hushed across her face, but her eyes were dark.

"Go on, then," she said. "This is about you."

"No," he said. "It's not. It's so much about you. About us. And this fucked up love." He bit her shoulder so hard he thought she'd punch his lights out in defence. Maybe it was frustration, maybe it was lust, maybe it was both- oh, there was such a fine line with her. She only winced in pain.

 _There_ , he thought, then kissed the skin he'd surely bruised.

He rammed into her harder, and she had to steady herself with one hand against the sink, one against the mirror. His fingers were turning white from how tightly he was gripping her hips.

She had her eyes squeezed shut now, giving him the opportunity to look at her completely unashamed.

"Yes," she cried out and he slammed into her again. "Yes."

She spread her legs further and curved her back, urging him to go deeper, harder yet. He stopped himself from wanting to apologize to her, because out of all the things he was sorry for, this really wasn't one of them. Somewhere in his shag-dazed brain it registered that her giving herself to him like this was seeded in a truth he knew deep down, yet spent all of his life doubting, because she couldn't bring herself to voice it. But he knew she loved him. She loved him the only way she could: wildly, madly, without reservation. Could he say the same?

"Missy," he groaned into her ear, and she brought the hand that was holding on to the sink around to grip his ass and encourage him to not stop, to fuck her harder.

He felt the need to come building and building, but he could tell that she wasn't there yet, and it took all his strength to slow down, to stop, to pull out of her.

Endless eyes found his in the mirror.

"You can come," she said. "I don't mind."

"No chance," he smiled, and took a deep breath. "Ladies first."

She made a comment about there being no ladies present, then lead him by the hand into the other room and onto the bed. She climbed on top of him, her hair cascading around their faces. She offered a smile this time, and it did strange things to his hearts.

"Theta," she whispered, took his cock in one hand and stroked him with her fingertips only. "You're mine."

Then she lowered herself onto him and started moving slowly. Her heat felt incredible, and she was so deliciously wet that he wanted to fuck her and taste her at the same time.

Her hands were on his chest now, caressing and scratching him erratically. Her face was a mixture of bliss and concentration. He took her by the hips and went with the motion of her little body. Watching her was too much- almost.

"You're beautiful," he told her and felt completely ridiculous for having said something so irrelevant.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Tell me you love me more than her."

"Missy."

"Say it," she snapped, then lowered herself until they were nose to nose again. "I want you to say it."

He pushed them into a sitting position, and she swung her legs around his back. He thrust into her as hard as their new position allowed, and bent down to take her nipple into his mouth. He licked and bit it until he had her squirming in his arms. Her breathing became erratic, and he knew this body of hers well enough to understand that she wasn't going to last much longer, which was just as well, because he certainly wasn't.

His arm wrapped around her then, holding her against him, as much skin on skin as possible.

"Fuck, oh fuck," she said, breathless and shaking, and then she came spectacularly, crying out his name.

He had a few more frantic thrusts in him before exploding inside of her. He buried his face in her wet hair and held her.

Their breaths calmed, as did their heartbeats.

"I love you more than I love anyone," he told her just above a whisper, and she grew heavy in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. "You're my favourite poem, my favourite song, my favourite sunrise."

"I'm the constellation Perseus."

He chuckled, fingertips running up and down her naked back tentatively. "You remember me saying that?"

"I remember everything you've ever said to me. Perseus is wild and beautiful."

"Like you," he said, his nose nudging at her face to make her look at him. Like the night, afterglow suited her eyes. She looked at him for a long time.

"I love you," she said suddenly.

He lifted his finger into the air, like he wanted her to listen to something.

"What?" She asked.

His eyebrows shot up, and he smiled at her. "Nothing. You said it, and the universe didn't end."

She poked him in the ribs immediately, and he as good as threw her off of him and started laughing.

"Theta, you're such a first class idiot," she told him yet again, unable to fake genuine annoyance this time. She grabbed a pillow and flung at his head. He threw it straight back, but missed her by a country mile. It wiped the lamp off the bedside table and sent it crashing to the floor. Missy looked at the destruction, then at him.

"Seriously?" She asked, picked up another pillow and threw it at him so hard he nearly rolled off the bed.

"Right," he said and grabbed her around the ankle. "Game on."

She squealed as he yanked her towards him.


End file.
